


Coming Home

by Hiruma_Musouka



Series: Through the Looking-Glass, Weirdly [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Established Relationship, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, Rare Pairings, Serious Injuries, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiruma_Musouka/pseuds/Hiruma_Musouka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gatō's on the fourth path and <i>hey</i>, it's the Senju and Uchiha, un." The blond grins sharply, looking through his scope at the car moving along the road.</p><p>His temporary partner flips through the coded bounty book he obsessively carries. "They're worth more than Gatō. Try and time it so they're in a recognizable piece if not alive."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenathehun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenathehun/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[[Halloween Documentary Post]]](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/212095) by pigffoot. 



> Thank you for your feedback, Lauren: I appreciate it. Also, here's that not-quite bribe, elenathehun, for the You-Know-What I hope you write. Good luck!
> 
> DON'T LOOK AT THE "INSPIRED BY" OR END NOTES UNTIL AFTER YOU READ, PLEASE!

Tobirama has been an agent with the Konoha division for fifteen years. Regardless of how vile Gatō is, if the man is willing to sell out higher members of the international slave trade to save his own skin, they are duty-bound to ensure he lives long enough to go on trial.

This does not mean he _enjoys_ being in the same car with Gatō, but at least Madara's vicious smile and explicit recounting of certain gory cases has kept the slaver docile and quiet. Unsurprisingly, even someone as arrogant as Gatō can pick up on subtextual threats when it's Madara saying them.

Still, Tobirama is silently counting the minutes until they finally leave these mountains and deliver the man to the Kiri team in charge of the case. Something about the entire situation is making him tense, and the way Madara's eyes keep flickering over the woods means his partner senses it too.

He'll feel much better about this when they're back home.

.

.

(Later, he wishes he was the kind of man who could have put a bullet in Gatō before they ever left, regardless of duty.)

.

.

_"..e u... ey, do... ore me..."_

A hand lightly slaps his cheek.

_"...do thi... me, Tobir... com... wak... GET UP, YOU STUBBORN BASTARD!"_

Tobirama jolts as the familiar voice echoes painful through his head. He grits his teeth against the throbbing pain and cautiously pries open a heavy eyelid as his head spins dizzily and his stomach threatens to rebel.

Three wavering Madaras look down at him in relief, and Tobirama swallows a coppery mouthful of saliva before trying to prop himself up.

Agony shoots up his leg and side with a punch like a battering ram. He vaguely feels a hand catch his head right before he sinks back under.

.

.

Waking up the second time is easier. It's not less _painful_ , but it is easier. At least he knows not to move carelessly this time.

" 'adara," he whispers hoarsely.

"Hey," Madara quietly replies, "finally back with me, huh?"

"How long have I been out?" he asks, not opening his eyes as a hand gently rakes through his hair.

There's a strange pause. "Most of the day."

"What happened?" Tobirama asks, head ringing as he leans into the caress, frowning slightly when it stops.

"You... don't remember then?" Madara says slowly. Tobirama sneaks open an eye to see the man staring into the distance with an unreadable expression. Tobirama carefully moves his left arm up to pat gracelessly at Madara's knee, glad when those eyes refocus on him even if he still can't decipher the emotions rolling under the surface. "I suppose... it must be the concussion," the Uchiha says, idly squeezing Tobirama's hand. "Your pupil response is a little better at least."

Tobirama blearily stares at the man once he stops talking. "Did... We crashed? With you driving?" he asks, bewildered. Inside city limits, Madara's driving seems insane, but anyone with the reflexes to race after suspects in rush hour traffic the way Madara's done for years has no excuse for crashing on a smooth, mostly straight mountain road in broad daylight.

Madara grimaces, helpless fury flashing over his face. He looks back at Tobirama who frowns slightly when that anger just drains away uncharacteristically, leaving that strange expression again.

"It's more like we were _made_ to crash," Madara says. An ironic smile spreads across his face. "I suppose you're finally validated about my driving getting someone killed, although you're alive so your years of complaints are still wrong."

Tobirama closes his eyes against the dying sunlight that's stabbing into his brain. "Foul play," he sighs as it clicks, aggravation sparking to life in his chest, "and Gatō's dead. Excellent. Who and how?"

"A bomb _on_ the road, from what I can see. The car's several meters away. I can't even tell how much damage is from the initial explosion and how much from the crash afterwards. The timing was _perfect_." One hand tightens around Tobirama's as the other starts combing shakily through his snowy hair again. "You might be beat to hell, but I think the only reason you survived is because you got your belt off and the door open in time to jump."

There's something slightly off about that, but Tobirama can't guess what it is. He fuzzily remembers the door and... and unbuckling the seatbelt, but... " 're you injured?"

Madara laughs without humor, "I'm... well, some version of fine. I don't have any injuries that'll kill me now." He pauses. "We have to move though. On a scale from Hashirama's stupidity to that incident with the Kumo mercenaries, how much do you hurt?"

"I can move," he avoids flatly, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that scoffs at that statement. If the bomb was on the road itself rather than the car, the only known MO that fits is from Akatsuki. Whatever's wrong with him is magnitudes less likely to kill him than an Akatsuki assassin he isn't in shape to fight. There is no choice about moving.

Especially since Madara is clearly hiding something. He's never seen the man act quite like this.

Madara nods grimly and holds still as Tobirama grabs his shoulder and slowly levies himself up despite the throbbing and dizziness. Once he's vertical, he leans on Madara as he takes controlled, steady breaths until the pain dies down to a manageable level again.

"Please tell me it's not an open break," he bites out through clenched teeth, catching sight of a bloody makeshift splint around his right leg.

"It's not: the blood's not yours," Madara says. "It's broken in more than one place though. But we don't have bandages and can't afford to sacrifice your clothes if we're going to be stuck here in the cold at night. Gatō certainly doesn't need his clothes anymore."

Considering the torn cloth securing his splint is mostly soaked through with red, Tobirama has to agree that there's no way Gatō needs it anymore. Still, "The blood could leave a trail," he says, lips pressed together and muscles tense as he experimentally rotates his foot. "I think there are some supplies in the trunk of our car. Help me over there."

" _No_ ," Madara stresses, unmoved by Tobirama's sharp glance. "You have enough gory memories without seeing that car. _I_ don't want to remember the car. And the trunk didn't survive the explosion anyway. We need to get further up the mountain and off the road until we can call for a pickup."

Well, that was faintly insulting, but more importantly, "We don't have a phone signal here, do we?"

"I hate the mountains," Madara agrees, teeth bared in a not-smile. "Try not to pass out while I get you vertical: you're not going to like it."

.

.

Madara was right. Tobirama _absolutely_ hadn't liked it.

.

.

They don't make it that far before they have to stop. It had already been late afternoon when when they first started, and even Madara's sharper vision can't help Tobirama avoid every trip hazard when the moon and stars are blocked out by the canopy overhead.

Despite the danger breathing down their necks, Tobirama can't make himself argue with Madara about stopping in the end. He's a bit too busy just trying to stay conscious after his leg catches on something unseen and twists further in a blaze of white-hot pain.

"Ok," Madara says, helping him settle against a tree trunk, "relax here while I see if there's anything that will work as shelter."

Tobirama nods, fighting down nausea from both the concussion and the pain as he tries to readjust his prone leg. He refocuses with a tired glare when Madara dumps his black jacket on Tobirama head.

"Keep that on," Madara orders, grabbing Tobirama's wrist when he goes to take it off. "Your hair reflects too much light in this darkness. If they do come after us, I don't want to find out they're here from a headshot."

"You're wearing a white shirt," Tobirama counters, leaving the jacket where it is. "Don't _take it off_ ," he snaps when Madara starts stripping.

"Tear it up and use the rags for more security on that splint," Madara says, bare arms prickling in the evening chill as he drops first his white dress shirt and then the white undershirt in Tobirama's lap, leaving him in just his chain necklace and bare skin. "I'll be right back."

"You're getting nothing but soup and health drinks when you come down with pneumonia," Tobirama warns, keeping his voice down as Madara slinks into the forest with far more stealth than a born and bred city-boy should rightfully have.

He starts tearing the cloth up while the spots in his vision die back down. Knowing Madara, if he leaves the shirts alone, the stubborn ass will just refuse to wear them when he gets back. And it's the height of summer, so long as they stay close at night, the cold shouldn't be a problem.

Tobirama grimaces once he unravels the wraps from his leg. Aside from the disgusting nature of the cloth bandages, the leg itself isn't pleasant to look at. Madara had cut his pants to get at the injury, so Tobirama can see immediately that there's a subtle deformity in the musculature at two places. He's not sure if the femur is broken as well, but from the size and color of the bruise on his outer thigh, it's a possibility.

He starts rewrapping it tightly, putting the new white scraps on as the first layer so their color will be hidden. It takes a little extra effort to get the fabric to cooperate considering the pieces aren't an ideal shape or length for this, but Tobirama isn't anything if he's not persistent and resourceful.

Unfortunately, the pain means he's sweating, chilled, and light-headed by the time he's secured the original red-stained scraps of white alongside the stained gray fabric from Gatō's outfit.

He barely catches sight of Madara again before the man slinks out of the nearby shadows like a ghost. It's ridiculously improbable that he can pull this off with all that skin on display, but Tobirama's willing to concede that his observational skills are likely compromised right now. It's the main reason he hasn't drawn his own weapon just in case.

"Anything?" he asks.

"There's a hollowed-out recess under an overhang at the bottom of a ditch that'll work," Madara says. He clenches his fist while looking at Tobirama's leg. "I think I'll need to carry you to get down. That last twist nearly brought you to your knees."

"I'll make it," Tobirama says, narrowing eyes at his partner. "Don't think I didn't notice how quickly you were getting winded just supporting me."

"Don't be an idiot! Do you want your bone to shift more and give you nerve damage or something," Madara snaps, tense as he meets Tobirama's red eyes.

Tobirama holds his gaze for a moment before sighing. "You and your infuriating stubbornness," he says, resigned as he hooks an arm around Madara's shoulder and lets the other man drag him up and onto his back.

It takes some maneuvering to get Tobirama secure without further harming his leg, and he has to clench his teeth hard to avoid letting out any pained sounds even with Madara at his most careful. He ends up lowering his forehead to the other man's chilled shoulder to avoid being sick and purposely worries at his bit cheek to distract himself.

There are a few times where Tobirama drops an inch or two abruptly as Madara seems to lose his grip, and while he can hear that the other man isn't breathing hard, it's not encouraging. As soon as they're out of possible danger, Tobirama is going to make Madara regret hiding whatever injury he has. He knows damn well that despite being a similar height, Madara is more than strong enough to support him.

Albeit, it's usually in more enjoyable circumstances with less clothing involved, but the knowledge has been established.

In the end, the less said about the act of actually getting in the hollow, the better. Tobirama can't crawl with an immobilized leg, and by the time he's inside, he feels it's safe to say that they've proved there's something more wrong with his thigh than just bruising.

"Any luck on your phone?" Madara asks, watching like a hawk as Tobirama situates himself so his leg is higher than heart level.

Tobirama reaches into the pouch next to his gun and lets out a quiet curse when he sees the complete absence of any signal bars on the screen. "Nothing."

"Useless phone plan," Madara complains, settling down so that Tobirama can rest his head on Madara's thigh. "A large number of people are going to utterly regret this mission by the time I'm done haunting their every step. They nearly got you killed."

"Don't harass the people in Supply, Madara," Tobirama says, eyes slipping shut as he tries to relax and compartmentalize the pain as best he can. "Focus your energy on identifying the leak that let Akatsuki know where Gatō was going to be. He went through too many metal detectors to have a tracker on him, so either there was one on the car or they knew enough information to prepare in advance."

Madara sighs, "I'm sure you or Izuna will find it first this time. I think I'll just rest for a while, after this."

Tobirama frowns at the out-of-character statement, reaching up to catch at the brunet's hand and craning his head back to stare up at Madara.

"What are you not telling me?" he quietly demands, trying to understand the shadowed expression he can barely see.

There's a sad twist to Madara's soft smile as he brushes cold fingers down the side of Tobirama's neck.

"You'll find out soon enough," he sighs. "Izuna's going to be furious about me accidentally breaking my promise. There's no way you won't know once you're back, just... get some sleep for now while we have the chance. I'll keep watch."

Tobirama doesn't want to drop it, but he can afford to wait. It's not like Madara can avoid having this conversation once Tobirama's mobile again, and sleep will only help them both since they have to wait for daylight.

He gives Madara an order to wake him up halfway through the night so they can switch, and then lets himself drift off as best he can to the feel of Madara's hand in his hair.

.

.

A cold hand covers his mouth and Tobirama snaps awake instantly, heart rate increasing as he sees Madara bring one finger up to his mouth, head cocked to listen.

For a long moment, he doesn't hear anything. For all that people think Madara's the city-boy for his uncanny memory of any city he's seen before, Tobirama himself is just as unfamiliar with the subtle details of nature. Hashirama has always been the family member who felt most comfortable off paved roads.

It takes a moment for him to realize that it's the _lack_ of sound raising the hair on his arms.

So much for hoping Gatō was Akatsuki's sole target.

Madara soundlessly slides out from under Tobirama's head and takes his gun from its holster. They don't have a silencer which is another unfortunate fact considering the Akatsuki is notorious for always working in pairs. Tobirama scoots further into the shadows of the overhang making himself as invisible as possible from the outside and readies his own weapon.

He doesn't argue about Madara going out. There's a risk inherent in leaving if the assassins are already close enough to see them, and there's no guarantee that Madara will find them before they find him, but the Akatsuki are skilled enough that they _will_ track them here given time.

They can't afford to get pinned into a corner.

Tobirama grabs Madara by the neck, dragging him in for a kiss, and shoving the jacket back at the freezing idiot.

 _'You had better come back alive'_ , he mouths.

Madara gives him a grim smile before shrugging the jacket on and sneaking out.

Tobirama settles back to wait, red eyes trained on the opening.

Knowing how to wait is something of a lost art in general. Many people are far too impatient to be good at it, and other people can be patient but _not_ simultaneously observant. One major hazard for agents on stakeouts is simply having their minds wander and missing crucial details.

But for all that Tobirama dislikes _wasting_ time, he is _very_ good at waiting when it has a purpose. Waiting for the exact moment people let down their guard or miss a crucial detail or think they've won... there are many criminals off the streets because they thought enough time had passed for Tobirama to stop paying attention.

A scream sounds in the distance.

It isn't Madara's. It has a different tone and a thread of fear that Madara would never vocalize on his own behalf. But in a way, that just makes the following rounds of rapid gunfire more tense. Every bullet is a confirmation that Madara isn't dead yet since he's either shooting or being shot at, but every bullet is another chance for that to change.

The silence after is worse.

Tobirama has no way to know what the situation is: whether Madara has been killed or if the assassins have been killed or if the pair has split up and Madara killed one while the other is somewhere else. If the pair _wasn't_ together, the shooting just alerted the last to Madara's location.

There's literally nothing Tobirama can do except wait. He can't leave to search: a dangerous and stupid option in this situation even without his leg holding him back. He can't call out since that would give Akatsuki his own location if they're alive. He _absolutely_ cannot call Madara's phone even if they _did_ have signal since he doesn't know if it's on vibrate, and it would distract Madara even if it didn't sound off for Akatsuki to hear.

( _If it's even still working,_ he thinks, cursing as he belatedly realizes that Madara hasn't once checked his own phone rather than having Tobirama check his.)

And if Madara is— if the worse should happen, Tobirama might not know for hours. Might possibly never know for sure if the Akatsuki leave without finding him, too. Some of their members work as mercenaries as well as assassins: they've been known to take living people and dead bodies for a variety of suspected reasons.

It takes an hour after the gunshots for Madara to make his way back, and if Tobirama hadn't known Madara's clothing and silhouette as well as he knew his own name, he might have shot the Uchiha himself with how the man approached in utter silence despite the leaves on the ground.

"There's two dead," Madara says tiredly, sitting down and watching as Tobirama holsters his gun and scans him for bullet wounds. "Unless they've deviated from pattern and sent more than one set, that's both of them. One of them was higher up the mountain. I think they were surveying the road from the higher altitude after they set the explosive. I couldn't search their equipment after the shots, but I remember where it is. It took time to find the second man after the first died."

"You..." Tobirama bites his tongue on all the ill-tempered things that pain and lingering dread make him want to say in response to Madara hunting down an alert, world renown assassin at night without gear or kevlar. It was the only choice he'd had. "Come here," he demands, determinedly ignoring the sharp throbbing in his leg.

He yanks his partner down by his shirt once the man's close enough, ignoring Madara's grunt of surprise and how he has to scramble not to fall on Tobirama's leg. He leans back, seizes Madara by the hair while he's off-balance, and drags him into a hungry kiss.

He can't say anything, can't bear to voice the well-founded fears that had whispered louder in his mind than he's used to in dangerous situations. Tobirama isn't accustomed to being a _liability_ to be protected, even if the feeling of Madara in danger is a familiar one from their line of work.

He isn't happy at the knowledge he couldn't have done anything if things had gone wrong.

But they haven't worked together for twelve years and _been_ together for ten without learning how each of them thinks. Madara knows his thoughts, reads those fears and that directionless anger in him, and understands as he kisses back. He lets Tobirama pretend everything hurts less than it really does when he presses up against worryingly chilled skin and tangles his fingers into soft black hair.

"You're going to take years off our kage's lifespan," Tobirama whispers, starting to relax as he slowly runs hands up and down Madara's back, thinking of how much alcohol Konoha's Director is going to want this time when she reads the report they'll file.

Except there's something a little broken and bitter about the laugh Madara chokes out at Tsunade's frequent complaint.

"And I suppose," Madara mutters, voice slightly off as he brushes kisses against Tobirama's neck, "that I'm turning your hair white as well?"

Tobirama pinches his side and twists like that comment deserves, but let's Madara get away with the diversion for now.

Madara lays down on his side, face buried against Tobirama's neck and motionless despite the rock Tobirama knows must be digging into his hip in that position. He carefully avoids putting weight on any of Tobirama's injuries, and Tobirama clutches him close and tries willing more heat into him as he drags fingers through Madara's long hair.

"They don't get to kill you," Madara whispers fiercely after a moment, fingers tightening on Tobirama's arm. "I don't _care_ if I— _you're not dying here._ "

"You're not dying either," Tobirama says implacably, tightening his grip in Madara's hair, "we are not surviving a car crash and assassinations just to die of exposure or dehydration in a forest. It's unpalatable."

Madara takes a shaky breath before leaning up into another kiss.

"What, you think it's insulting that nature might manage to finish us off when over a decade of more deliberate attempts have failed?" he asks, relaxing against Tobirama's neck again.

"I think if we die from something related to Hashirama's favorite hobby, we will never hear the end of it in either life," Tobirama counters.

Madara groans, undoubtedly remembering all of Hashirama's attempts - with far too many being successful - at dragging them all out on camping trips and hikes, the long explanations of facts and tips, the preparations that Hashirama (who knows _all of them_ ) never actually remembers to do without Tobirama or Mito there...

Despite 'hating' the woods, Madara has never actually been any more successful than Tobirama at escaping those trips. Less successful even, given that Hashirama's his best friend.

"Thanks for reminding me about those," he sighs. "You're going to be covered in bug bites by the time we leave."

Madara's not exactly _wrong_ , but, "I don't think they'll be as noticeable, strangely enough," Tobirama says.

He really is looking forward to hospital grade pain medicine, if not the surgery and weeks on crutches.

"If..." Madara starts quietly, "If I fill out all the endless paperwork while you're in the hospital and yell at Tsunade about it-"

"Don't yell at the Director: it's insubordinate and she'll throw another paperweight at your head."

"She never hits anyway, and neither of us ever talk to HR," Madara dismisses. "But... if I deal with all the details... would you change your mind and marry me?"

 _Mar—_ Tobirama blinks, thoughts frozen.

"I... never said I _wouldn't_ marry you," he says slowly, trying to look at Madara's face which is buried unhelpfully against his neck (with ulterior motives apparently). "You've never brought it up. Either before or after we..." _got less subtle about ignoring the fraternization rules_ , is what he's tempted to say because, lack of PDA or not, they do live together even if they technically have two separate apartments with a connecting door, but...

Marriage... huh...

"You've said you weren't interested in marriage a few times," Madara says, in the fake casual tone he sometimes uses when trying not to react. "When we were younger... and at weddings... and once when Tōka was needling you before anyone suspected we were together."

 _And you paid attention_ , Tobirama thinks, fingering soft hair. He wonders whether it's Madara's memory for details asserting itself or if that specific detail had caught his attention for a reason, even that far back.

"I've never understood all the fuss in weddings," Tobirama admits, "or the social idea that you have to be married at some point or your relationship isn't serious. It all seems unnecessary outside the potential economic, legal, or political aspects. I just don't have an emotional attachment to the concept."

"So you've said," Madara mutters, shrugging dismissively.

Tobirama considers the top of Madara's head and smiles unseen at his favorite idiot.

"Madara," he says, a little exasperated, "I asked you to move to that specific set of apartments to avoid being partnered with someone else. I went through the entirely unnecessary drama of making you my health care proxy, and you know how Hashirama reacted to that," he adds, feeling Madara cringe at either the memory of Hashirama's threats or his following enthusiasm. "It's enough for me, but if you want to get married, we'll get married."

Madara shoots up onto his elbow, staring down at Tobirama in wide-eyed surprise.

"...oh," he says, face blank in shock.

"You're such a fool," Tobirama says, lightly hitting Madara upside the head and dragging the moron down into another kiss. "I swear I don't know why I love you, you're worse than my brother."

"You take that back right now," Madara orders reflexively, blinking as he tries to restart his brain.

Tobirama scoffs, lifting his arms and pressing the night-mode button on his watch, sighing at the remaining two hours until dawn. "You're ridiculous," he says, threading his fingers back into Madara's hair as the man settles down on his chest again. "Why in the world did you ask me while we're in the woods, I'm injured, you're _probably_ injured, and you've just killed two assassins who were after us? It sounds like the plot from a B-movie romance without the makeup department," he says critically, plucking a few leaves out of Madara's hair.

"Because I'm a selfish bastard," Madara says, voice ruefully wistful, "and I wanted to know."

"You could have waited until we got back. Tōka will laugh endlessly at this."

"No, she won't," Madara breathes out, barely audible as he practically melts into a chilled dead-weight on top of Tobirama's shoulder. "I bet she won't."

"Are we talking about my same cousin?" Tobirama asks skeptically.

"I'll bet you the ring I've got hidden in that DVD you hate that she won't," Madara murmurs sleepily.

Tobirama stills in surprise. "... When did you have time and money to get _that_ without me noticing."

" 'zuna's big anniversary panic," Madara yawns.

Which meant Madara _hadn't_ paid for most of the surprise vacation Izuna set up for Tōka, he'd just used it as a smokescreen. It certainly explained the looks and a lot of Izuna's following comments and exasperation because, "That was over a year ago, Madara."

"I didn't want it to change anything if you said no," Madara mumbles. "You having the ring wasn't as important as me having a ring for you."

Because having people there would always rank leagues higher for Madara than the completion of a symbolic gesture he could go without.

"You should have just asked earlier," Tobirama says, carefully shifting to try and get more comfortable.

"...yes, I know... get some sleep, Tobirama."

.

.

_The car jerks forward with a bang._

_Shrapnel flies past. The windshield shatters as metal pierces it._

_Something sharp grazes Tobirama's cheek. Madara grunts in pain._

_"I ca— steerin —ot!"_

_There's blood splatter on his cheek from behind him. The car barely stays on the road._

_Seatbelt. Door. Ma— no. nonono._

_Red on black_ through _white. "GO!" Not witho—_

_A punch to the chest. Metal gives way at his back and there's air underneath him before his head hits—_

Tobirama shoots up, sweating and heart pounding before gagging at the mass of pain that slams into him. He rolls to the side, hindbrain panicking at Madara's absence, before dry heaving violently.

"Shit," Madara curses. He quickly comes back in and puts an arm under Tobirama's chest to help support his weight.

"You did not," Tobirama wheezes through a throat that feels like sandpaper, "kill those Akatsuki hard enough."

"Not nearly," Madara agrees with a humorless laugh. He places a blessedly cold wrist against Tobirama's forehead, and the younger man closes his eyes at the sensation as he grips Madara's arm loosely. "I think some of your other wounds might be infected."

"Is the leg swelling?" Tobirama asks, wishing they had some clean water to drink.

"Yes."

"Is it still the right color around the bandages?" There's a pause that's slightly too long and Tobirama curses. "Get me up. We're leaving now."

Getting outside is a special kind of hell, but at least the daylight means he can see clearly again. Tobirama takes a moment to catch his breath once he's vertical and leans against a nearby tree.

Madara, he's displeased to note, clearly _is_ injured somehow. There's nothing obviously wrong that Tobirama can see through his open jacket, but he's almost sheet white in the morning sun and moving with deliberate concentration. He's also been consistently colder than Tobirama since the crash which is concerning given that Madara usually runs hotter than he does.

"They should have sent out some kind of search party by now," Madara says, pacing as he ignores Tobirama's close observation. "We've missed check-ins and everyone knew the risks with Gatō. With the subtle option having failed, they should have dispatched a helicopter for speed."

Tobirama frowns. "Did the Akatsuki's camp have a break in the trees for a helicopter to land?"

"There's something workable," Madara calculates, "but it's the harder path to travel on foot."

"Maybe," Tobirama allows, "but either they have a way to boost a signal for the remote detonation or they have a working satellite phone. Either option gets us in contact."

Madara narrows his eyes to the north-west as he thinks before nodding sharply.

"Let's move then."

.

.

They cross paths with one of the dead assassin's on their way to the ridge.

It's a seasoned man, around 185 centimeters tall, wearing a black mask and solid contacts in a flat, unnatural green.

Tobirama recognizes him as Kakuzu, a skilled killer from one of the smaller jungle countries who favors garrotes. He had earned international infamy for his long career and for his twin habits of carving out hearts and pursuing bounties. Kakuzu is well known to kill anyone he sees nearby whose head has a price in the Underworld, regardless of who he'd been specifically hired to pursue.

He's also nearly as renown as his known partner Hidan for being impossible to put down, despite devoted attempts by multiple agencies. Both the Taki branch and the Yuu branch have lost multiple agents during confrontations with either man.

 _They'll be pleased to learn he's dead for real this time_ , Tobirama thinks, watching a opossum scurry away from where it had been picking at one of Kakuzu's eyes.

He tightens his arm around Madara's shoulder as they limp past an outstretched hand half clutching a thin metal wire. He's not certain _how_ Madara killed Kakuzu, given the lack of visible wounds and the minimal signs of struggle, but frankly, he doesn't care. If Madara hadn't managed it, he would have been the one lying dead and probably Tobirama himself shortly after.

Besides, questions can wait. They have more immediate hurdles to overcome.

.

.

"Madara, you hypocritically reckless asshole," Tobirama bites out, glaring upwards at the Akatsuki's nest.

"In my defense," Madara says stubbornly, shrugging Tobirama's arm further up his shoulders, "it was _still_ less crazy than your damn freerunning."

 _It absolutely was not_ , Tobirama thinks silently, staring at the mountain slope. This particular area is littered with rocks and small boulders which might make climbing easier even with his broken leg. The angle of the slope, however, is nearly _sixty-degrees_ for several meters and _utterly exposed_ to the large flat ledge at the top.

He had been hoping as they approached that this wasn't actually the perch Akatsuki had chosen despite the perfect view of the road far below, but the blond corpse to their right put paid to that theory.

" _How_ did you not get killed on approach?"

"Maybe I'm just better at stealth than you?" Madara mocks, helping him over to where the slope starts increasing and ignoring the flat look of disbelief Tobirama shoots him. "He certainly never saw me."

"Up until he started shooting, you mean." Tobirama scans the entire path carefully before limping slightly to the left and leveraging himself up onto a large stone with Madara's help.

"Well, that _was_ why I tossed him off the cliff in the end."

"I think the coroner's assistants would have preferred it if you'd just shot him." He grabs hold of another stone and starts the slow, careful climb upwards. It's more of a three-legged crawl than a proper climb, if he's honest, but it's movement with an end goal in sight: he's not complaining.

"They don't get a fucking opinion. The bullets weren't working and it was effective," Madara declares, following close behind.

Tobirama makes an agreeing sound before turning his full attention to the task at hand. His concussion may have faded a bit, but between the remaining disorientation, the physical impediment of his leg, and the pain combining with a developing fever, this isn't anything like the easy climb it should be. Keeping his center of gravity close to the ground and taking advantage of the rocks as makeshift seats is really the only reason he's making it at all.

Perhaps he should have just had Madara go ahead while he waited behind until someone arrived with a stretcher. It would have been a viable option with the Akatsuki dead, and it's not like they've shortened their travel time by limping along at his pace.

A pity the idea only occurred _after_ he was partway up the damn cliff. He can hardly stop now.

"This is an example of terrible judgment," Tobirama grits out, pulling himself up one foot further.

"Just move."

"This is the sort of mistake we expect from rookies."

"Are you going to complain the entire wa— NO! NOT THERE!" Madara shouts, right as the rock Tobirama's putting his weight on shifts with a crack and pulls out of the ground.

Tobirama scrambles for a handhold, lunging for another stone and ignoring the way he's scraping up his hands as he grabs at anything stable. The broken rock tumbles down the incline, missing Madara from the sound of his shouting, and slams into the ground below. Several other stones nearby pull loose above him with a shower of dirt, and Tobirama has no time to think before something solid slams into the crown of his head.

Things go muted.

The world darkens. His hands relax. His weight shifts. He starts sliding with the vague knowledge that's a bad thing. He hears Madara cursing viciously at the far end of a muffled tunnel.

A cold, misty pressure seizes him abruptly.

 _"NO,"_ a man seethes, voice implacable and strangely echoing as chill wraps around him and seeps inside his bones. _"I said you're not dying here."_

Things move. A muscled, icy arm wraps around his waist. Ground shifts. Rocks crumble. Air opens under his feet and he jolts, hands grasping through gray-black vision. Red leaks down his face, stinging one eye. Pressure surges underneath.

His back hits dirt, and he rolls to a stop. His leg catches awkwardly under him, and the sharp pain acts like a roller coaster: first throwing him up into awareness before trying to drag him back down. He fights through the fog, dimly aware that someone familiar is yelling.

_"...phone! Where... cking assas..."_

He could really use some water.

" _There! C'mon you... dial, dial, can't be as difficu... kicking that bastard off..."_

Breakfast too. With morphine. Breakfast someone else makes.

 _"..ck up! Pick... you fucking drunkar... if...change your... amn number, I swear I'll..._ "

Breakfast someone _besides_ Madara makes, he amends.

 _"...rama! Tobiram... look at... shit! Talk! Say something, damn you! TALK TALK TALK!"_ someone roars in front of him.

"Fuck... off," he croaks out, woozily.

[ SENJU?! ] a woman exclaims, voice crackling. [ Whe— you?! ]

 _"Fourth rout...le marker 238. Repe... say it! Number four, 238! Say it!"_ Cold hands grab either side of his face, and he moans in relief as his head starts numbing. _"Four, marker 238!"_

"t, two three eight," he slurs, blindly swinging his arm out. "Numb' 'our, god my _head_... hate cars... hate mou'ains, never hiking 'gain, _fuck_ Hash'rama."

[ 238? Mile _marker_ 238? NARA! Find th— now and get Namik— heading in the right dire— Senju, stay on the line! Where's Uchiha an— atō? ]

 _"Easy there, easy,"_ someone says as he shifts onto his side. A hand grips his shoulder and a cold palm hides his eyes as the woman keeps yelling somewhere next to his head. _"Let's not crash int... assault rifle."_

"Madara," he murmurs, hissing as a hand brushes over something painful on his head.

_"I'm here still. Just a little bit longer. Just a little and you'll be ok."_

[ Senju? Senju, where's Uchiha? ]

"Wake me up in a bit," he mutters, pressing the hand further against his eyes.

[ Stay awake! Senj— ]

.

.

"Shit, he looks like hell."

"Don't move him!"

"Rin he _climbed_ up here! He can't possibly have spinal damage."

"Agent Senju? Agent can you hear me?"

"This is Hatake: confirmation on Akatsuki's presence. Deidara's dead. No sign of his partner's whereabouts."

"Definite concussion. Multiple signs of head trauma, broken tibia and fibula _at least._ "

"Where the hell is Uncle Madara?"

"Kakashi! Help me lift him into the helicopter."

Tobirama moans, squinting his eyes open to see a metal roof. A blond head obscures his view.

"Glad to see you're still with us," Minato says, smiling. "Everyone got rather concerned after Shikamaru found that backdoor in our systems."

Tobirama winces at the loud voice, swallowing dryly. "A hack gave them our location then?" he whispers, eyes tracking Madara as he climbs in behind the blond and slides around to sit next to Tobirama on the floor.

"Yes," Minato says, watching Tobirama's reactions, eyes tracking his focus as Rin squeezes in to administer what aid she can. "It's good to see they didn't manage to get you killed. Were you the one who dealt with Deidara?"

Tobirama frowns, looking up at Madara who just crosses his arms and says nothing. "Madara killed him and Kakuzu. Did you not ask him?"

"We haven't seen him yet. How about Gatō? Did the Akatsuki kill him?"

"He died when the explosion hit the car. What do you mean you haven't _seen_ Madara?" Tobirama asks, raising his eyebrows as he sips the water Minato hands him before offering it to Madara.

"Don't ask that right now," Madara says solemnly, making no move to take the water. Tobirama tries to glare past the pain in his head, missing the brief glance Minato and Rin exchange.

"What do you mean 'don't ask—' "

"Agent?" Rin interrupts, hands pausing where she's carefully cutting through the cloth around his splint. "Could you tell me what color clothing Gatō was wearing when you and Agent Uchiha left with him."

"All gray," he replies, eyes drifting back towards Rin as Madara stubbornly refuses to respond.

A complex look passes between the two agents as Rin tilts one of the red-soaked, white scraps towards Minato so he can see it.

The blond pulls on a less cheerful smile as he nods at Tobirama. "I'll go let Obito and Kakashi know they're looking for Kakuzu's body before we head out," he says, slipping outside.

"This is going to hurt, Agent," Rin warns as she gingerly presses against the swollen skin of his calf.

Tobirama hisses through his teeth. "I had expected it would," he says, trying to relax back into the floor and bear through it. He turns his head towards Madara, closing his eyes as the man starts coming his hair again and missing how he watches the open door to track Minato's whispered conversation with his subordinates.

"—stay nearby and find Kakuzu, but I don't want you... pull Izuna and Kagami off until... think that he might... car and confirm first before heading—"

.

.

Tobirama understands confidentiality, gag orders, and not spreading around information concerning active investigations. He supports that. He's fine with that. The theft of such details is what landed him in this hospital room in the first place.

But that is _not_ what's happening here.

He glares at yet another division member who scurries out after a conversation filled with repetitive questions and evasive responses. So far, one agent has blatantly snapped his mouth shut rather than talk, and more than a few have outright fled the room after Tobirama became suspicious and started grilling them back.

Thirty minutes later, Madara, who's been sitting in the same chair since Tobirama woke up from surgery, snorts in amusement when a junior agent opens the door, sees Tobirama drumming his fingers, and promptly closes it again.

"I think those former trainees of yours have spread more rumors than what Kagami fessed up to," Madara says, smirking, cheek propped up on his fist.

Tobirama sends him a sharp look. "Do _you_ intend to tell me what's going on?" he demands.

Madara visibly considers it, lips quirking at how it makes Tobirama's expression darken. "You _could_ say they're being indecisive about telling you that we're off the Gatō case due to... a complication."

"Don't you _dare_ start being evasive," Tobirama threatens. "While frustrating, that doesn't come close to explaining either their behavior or the comments about concussions and coping mechanisms they've danced around."

"Well the devil's in the details, aren't they?" Madara says nonsensically before standing up. Tobirama watches him stretch, skin nearly translucent he's so pale, and frowns when Madara just walks past the leftovers on the tray rather than grab the apple Tobirama had intentionally set aside.

"Have you even eaten since we've gotten here?" he asks, concern hovering under frustrated irritation. Normally fruit is one of the few things Madara willingly eats on the rare occasions either of them are hospitalized.

"I'm not hungry," Madara says, lifting up Tobirama's medical chart from the end of the bed.

"Has a _doctor_ seen you?"

"I've seen a lot of doctors since you decided to pass out dramatically in the helicopter," Madara says, dropping down to sit next to him on the bed. "And at least one examiner who saw me had a discussion about it with Tsunade, so I didn't even have to see her personally to give her grief."

"I assume it's not serious since you aren't handcuffed to your own bed this time."

"Oh, they know exactly what's wrong," Madara says, handing Tobirama the chart and then lazily leaning against the white-haired man while he read. "It's a lot simpler than your leg, too. No hospital stay required this time."

"And?"

Madara ignores him as he flips to the next page in the chart. "Looks like you didn't suffer any permanent damage although physical therapy will be a bitch you'll hate every minute of."

"Madara!" he snaps. "I have no patience left. You are going to explain what you _haven't_ told me, what they _aren't_ telling me, and then you'll _quit_ this ridiculous game of mutual silent treatment you have going on with everyone, and—"

Madara interrupts him with a kiss, sinking a hand into Tobirama's white hair and putting his heart into it. Tobirama doesn't respond for a moment, still steeped in irritation as his temper sparks, but eventually he sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut.

"Has that ever," Tobirama murmurs between kisses, "made me forget what an ass you can be?"

Madara laughs lowly, chest rumbling against his arm as he starts trailing kisses down Tobirama's jawline and neck. "Forget, no, but it usually leads to enjoyable distractions, doesn't it?"

" _Not_ in a hospital, you ass," he says, breathing in sharply as Madara drags his collar out of the way and bites down at the base of his neck. Tobirama lets his head fall to the side, sparks shooting up and down his spine as a cool hand rests on the other side of his neck. Several moments after the point where Tobirama _knows_ Madara's left a visible mark, he tugs on black hair and drags the man back up into a proper kiss.

They trail off eventually, foreheads pressed together as Madara smiles at him, sad but content.

"You're going to be just fine, right?" he asks, thumb brushing over Tobirama's neck.

Tobirama huffs but smiles back softly. "Aside from the obvious brain damage and the Stockholm syndrome no one's diagnosed, you mean?"

"Like that would ever work on your stubborn ass," Madara snorts, glancing reluctantly towards the door. "It looks like someone finally decided to just rip off the band-aid instead of being delicate about it."

Madara stands up as the door opens. "I'll wait for you to finish. Take as long as you need and don't be too much of a bastard in the meantime. Can you say sorry to Izuna for me when you see him?"

"Apologize yourself," Tobirama refuses.

Madara makes a face and sighs. He hesitates, glancing over as Danzō enters before ducking down to kiss Tobirama gently.

"I love you, Tobirama," Madara whispers, voice cracking.

And then while Tobirama watches with a confused frown, Madara stands up and walks out without another word.

"Sensei, do you feel well enough to talk?" Danzō asks with a resolute expression, not even noticing Madara as he closes the door behind the Uchiha.

"I'm fine. What is it?" he asks, turning his attention to the younger man.

Danzō crosses his arms, fingers tightening around the manila folder he'd brought with him. "There is a large discrepancy between your report of events and the evidence that's been gathered so far. No one else thinks it's _proper_ to bring it to your attention—"

"Danzō!" Hiruzen snaps, door slamming into the wall as he rushes in. "We agreed not to speak of it yet—"

"The facts don't change because you _wait_ on it like they'll miraculously improve!"

"You can't just _blurt_ it out either like—"

"Get out both of you!" Koharu yells, hand slapping the wall as she skids to a stop in the doorway. "This is not the place to argue! Have neither of you any respect at all!"

Tobirama hits the clipboard of his chart against the metal bed frame, silencing the room with a crack. "What is going on?" he demands.

"Madara's dead," Danzō says bluntly.

Tobirama blinks. Silence descends abruptly as the other two go mute. Hiruzen looks angrier than Tobirama's ever seen him at Danzō, but it's Koharu's reaction - eyes closing as she lets out a resigned breath - that makes something go still in the back of his mind.

"Excuse me," he says, slowly. "I don't think I understand."

"Madara died in the car crash," Danzō continues, ignoring the way Hiruzen clenches his teeth. "The coroner already verified that pieces of metal warped from the explosion pierced the car seat—"

"Danzō," Hiruzen warns, not looking at Tobirama.

"—perforated the lung, shredding the left ventricle of the heart, before the car—"

 _Red on black through white,_ Tobirama remembers dreaming, stilling as the phantom scent of C-4 and blood fills the air.

"—which means he _couldn't_ have dealt with Akatsuki—"

_"I don't care if I— you're not dying here," Madara whispers fiercely, breath cold against Tobirama's neck._

"—wants to mention it because they think it's _kinder_ to let you believe he's alive—

_"What do you mean you haven't seen Madara?" "Don't ask that right now."_

"That's _enough_ Danzō," Koharu insists, grabbing onto Hiruzen's shoulder as the man jerks forward.

 _The room is warmer_ , he thinks, breathing in. He can feel the mark on his neck, but the room is _warmer_. He hadn't realized there had been a chill until Madara left and—

Madara has always been warmer than he was. Always. Except he had been _cold_.

_"I'll wait for you to finish."_

"Get out," Tobirama says, staring blankly at his lap, knuckles turning white where they tighten around the clipboard.

"...Sensei, are you... do you..." Hiruzen flinches when the wood cracks in Tobirama's hands.

"Get out," he repeats, holding steady with ruthless will as his mind runs through memories. He hears Koharu hissing at the men in the background as she forcibly drags them out, but the words don't penetrate.

The door closes and he lets himself move, raising a shaking hand to press hard against his face, trying to fight the headache building between his eyes.

A drop of liquid falls on the clipboard.

He breathes in sharply, breathes out unsteadily. He raises the other hand. His muscles spasm, aggravating bruises as he resists curling in on himself. Another bead of liquid seeps through his fingers, and he coughs, fighting to breath around the lump forming in his throat.

"You bastard," he rasps, shoulders shaking as he remembers a hand shoving him out before his head hit the car door. "You arrogant, lying, moronic fool. How dare—"

He chokes, unable to breathe through his nose as he coughs, feeling horribly, completely exposed in this sterile room, open to anyone and empty of everyone and he wants...

He wants to leave. He wants their apartment and his books and their cat and arguing in front of the TV and-

He wants to go home. He wants to _go home_ like he'd been looking forward to. He wants his stubborn fool of a partner—

_"Because I'm a selfish bastard, and I wanted to know."_

He shakes, a low keen in his chest that he can't fully smother. He buries one hand in his hair as the other digs into the bed until his fingers ache from the strain.

A few more drops darken the white sheets.

"You never," he coughs again, voice hoarse as he remembers a sadly wistful smile, "you never let me see the car."

_"I love you, Tobirama."_

.

.

.

.

Epilogue

Tobirama doesn't speak of Madara after that.

Unfamiliar agents immediately stop coming by. He suspects Koharu must have done something, but he doesn't ask either. He responds to the nurses that enter, takes as many pain meds as he safely can, and alternates between trying to sleep and listening to mindless TV at a volume that doesn't worsen his reoccurring headache.

There's an ache in his chest, waiting for comments that don't come.

He's tired and sick and nauseous. None of the pain killers fully block the discomfort from his leg. He throws up in front of a doctor who comes to discuss his treatment plan for the multiple bone fractures. The man assumes it's a reaction caused by the medicines they have him on, and he asks about any symptoms he's experienced.

Tobirama doesn't tell the man that for a brief moment his red tie and white coat had looked like a bloody dress-shirt.

Director Tsunade, with a thread of furious determination running under her serious demeanor, drops by personally to explain that the agents in the hospital will be assigned to guard him, at least until he's back on his feet. No one knows how Akatsuki responds to losing members since they had always escaped up to this point.

"They might want to retaliate since you killed those two and bruised their reputation," she says, flipping through a file as Shizune waits outside.

"I didn't kill them," Tobirama refutes flatly.

He doesn't add anything about Madara this time, but he can tell from Tsunade's expression that she'd heard about his 'hallucinations'. She offers to recall Hashirama or Tōka from the mission they're on, but Tobirama declines. They've all put too much effort into making the limited international cooperation they have work; he doesn't want to call them back now.

The few visitors he does get, besides doctors and on-the-clock agents, don't seem to know how to speak to him. Tobirama's lip twitches upward for the first time in days when he realizes that if he disregards their concern over his mental state, most of their verbal tiptoeing is because they _still_ aren't sure if the two of them were sleeping together.

Konoha division has always been accompanied by an endless flow of gossip, and relationships are prime material. He's pretty sure half his coworkers bet he and Madara hated each other while the other half thought it was UST.

The fact they're trying to figure out what the appropriate _condolences_ are takes all the humor out of it.

It's Izuna's visit that leaves him both gutted and strangely reassured.

Madara's brother looks terrible. He's pale and drawn with blood-shot eyes and an edge to his expression that makes Tobirama think that Deidara should be thankful twice over that he's already dead. Izuna looks at Tobirama silently for a moment, fist clenched, and even if he's both a friend and Tōka's husband, there's a part of Tobirama that wonders if Izuna's going to punch him for being the one who came back alive.

He doesn't punch Tobirama though. Not physically. What Izuna does is open his fist and drop a familiar silver chain on the bed.

Tobirama gathers the necklace in one palm carefully, running a thumb over the familiar silver links as he remembers where he'd bought it. The little clunky charm from Izuna's daughter is still hanging from it, as ugly as it was the day she had given it to Madara and insisted he wear it always since he was her 'favorite black-haired uncle' and needed 'something pretty'.

Madara's face had been priceless when he'd taken it from the three-year-old. He's sure that if Madara's lap hadn't been full of toddler, the man would have strangled all of the adults in the room for their amusement when Tobirama 'helpfully' offered to buy him a chain to wear it on.

 _And yet, Madara would never have taken this off_ , Tobirama acknowledges, pain swelling once more.

"He said," Tobirama swallows, not looking at Izuna, "he said he was sorry for breaking his promise."

Izuna laughs without humor. "Right. After the wreck he said that, I'm sure."

"Yes," Tobirama confirms, meeting Izuna's eyes, unwilling to lie no matter how crazy the other man thought he was.

Izuna's face twists, flickering through expressions before his gaze lands on Tobirama's leg, now in a cast. Something changes and Izuna's expression turns uncertain but wondering.

"Did anyone tell you how _both_ the Akatsuki died according to yesterday's coroner report?" he asks suddenly. "Kabuto said it was stress cardiomyopathy. They literally had heart attacks from massive amounts of fear chemicals. All the other injuries, even the broken bones from Deidara's fall, weren't fatal."

"Two professional, world renown _assassins_ ," he emphasizes, "...and they drop dead of _stress-induced heart attacks_ before they can kill you. And they clearly tried to defend themselves, except there's no sign of anyone else. No sign except for bruising on Kakuzu's chest in the shape of someone's right foot."

Neither of them say the obvious point: that Tobirama clearly couldn't have done that with a broken leg.

Neither of them say the subtle point either: that Madara had kicked people in the chest before during fights.

"He... I...," Izuna hesitates, visibly switching tracks. "Ghosts aren't real."

Except there's a lilt at the end of Izuna's sentence: like a question lurking in the shadows of reality.

Because Madara couldn't have been there. He couldn't have if he was— Logically, it just makes more _sense_ that Tobirama had imagined it, for all that it seems so unlike him. And yet...

 _And yet_.

If Tobirama had been alone the whole time, if there's only his set of tracks from the car to the Akatsuki nest, then even if a third party - who left no signs - took out the assassins... how did he not fall when that rock hit him? How did he head straight for the cliff in the first place without wavering in the woods?

Where does Occam's Razor start promoting the impossible answer over the rational one?

He heads home after his last surgery. The doctors aren't happy since they'd prefer a few more days, but no one makes him sign AMA discharge forms so he ignores them. His coworkers are likewise unhappy since he won't let any guards set up inside his apartment, but he's doesn't budge on that either. He'll tolerate family coming in right now, maybe welcome those visits eventually, but for all that it hurts to think about, their space has always been _theirs_. He doesn't want other people in it.

Tomoe circles his ankles, purring like a furry black-and-white motor, as he moves inside. It isn't until he collapses on the couch and pets her for several minutes that the bossy cat flounces off to go sit near the front door.

The plaintive little chirps she makes while watching the door hurt more than he had expected. More than his leg, and at least as much as the jacket tossed on a chair or the stack of DVDs scattered on the coffee table from the night before they'd left.

Tobirama considers the DVDs, playing with the chain now resting under his shirt, before he shifts forward on the couch.

It takes a little effort to get up without straining too many bruised muscles, but he makes it over to the TV and carefully sits in front of the cabinet beneath it. He takes out the movies in the front, reaching in back for where he'd hidden that annoying piece of drama Madara loved so much.

There's a very small noise when he pulls the case out, like something hard shifting inside, and a post-it taped on the front that says _Don't you dare throw this away, Senju!_

He opens it, Tomoe mewling in the background, and finds a tastefully simple ring with a single sapphire and an inscription:

 _'Always'_ , it says.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine this scene: I have picked up a beautiful crystal wineglass while you watch, and at first you're a little baffled as I hold it up to admire it in the light, and then horror dawns as you watch me drop it to a stone floor, knowing you can't catch it in time, while I smile.
> 
> That's what I feel as I post.
> 
> But before I'm accused of evil, malicious glee, I want you to know that it's not quite true. I didn't write this to be evil. I wrote this based on a [tumblr post](http://hiruma-musouka.tumblr.com/post/146486300216/thepersephonecabin-sonneillonv) because that one line just struck me: "the first ghost stories were really about coming home".
> 
> How bittersweet is that concept. How painful. It just stuck.
> 
> And I wanted to write it: I wanted to write a story with that bittersweetness, with that edge of coming home even if you can't stay. I wanted to touch a bit on our cultural idea of ghosts with unfinished business and how in some stories, that business has more to do with love and longing than any revenge. It just... it made me sad and tear up and I've cried a little at night as I thought of this story (3 nights in a row!) because sometimes there's a beauty in the sad things that break your heart. Sometimes the broken pieces just emphasize how good things were before it was over.
> 
> And sometimes we just need a little sadness to let ourselves cry when we might not otherwise because it's "ok" to cry over stories. So here's prompt 41: [a romance that ends in tragedy](http://hiruma-musouka.tumblr.com/post/139014812625/52-short-stories-in-52-weeks).


End file.
